


Heavy Sits the Crown

by DonLambert



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Mild slash, More angst, combination book/movie verse, the bilbo/thorin is very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonLambert/pseuds/DonLambert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Five Armies claims Thorin and Fili, leaving Kili as King Under the Mountain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Sits the Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DonRicci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonRicci/gifts).



> Set during the book with minor changes to events, I apologize for any inaccuracies and for all of the angst, which is abundant. Bilbo's song is meant to resemble "Into the West" from Return of the King. Rated T for language and some mild slashy-ness. I'll probably be writing a short epilogue soon.
> 
> “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”  
> William Shakespeare, Henry IV.

~

It was Kili’s first true battle, and his nerves hummed with anticipation. Thorin and his companions were in the great armories of Erebor, gearing up for their ambush from the front gates and the ensuing fight. Fili and Kili stood off together, preparing in hushed excitement. No longer were they playing games, no longer were they training or dreaming; childhood fantasies had become singing reality.

Thorin had presented them both with beautiful, gleaming chain mail, entreating them to fight bravely for the land of their fathers, kissing both of their foreheads. Fili had nodded, “Until our death, my king,” and Thorin had looked at them both with such pride that Kili thought his heart might burst, so brave and invincible did he feel.

“Our first fight.” Fili stood before his brother, helping him with his armor, straightening and lacing his vambraces. “Are you ready, brother?”

Kili grinned. “When you are.”

~

The Battle of Fiver Armies raging on around them, Kili and Fili stood back to back in the valley before the Lonely Mountain, cutting down with ease any goblin that dared advance upon the great Brothers Durin. Thorin’s company had worked their way to the back of the ravine where the great goblin king, Bolg, and his terrible bodyguards lay in wait.

“Ah, I wish I could shoot these fucking goblins!” Kili cried when there was a lull in the hellish creatures that seemed to reign down without end upon them. He hadn’t had the space or time to draw his bow since entering the thickest area of fighting.

“I see an outcropping of rock over to our right, you can climb up and -”

Fili was cut short by a great cry who’s location they could not place, although both knew immediately who it belonged to - their uncle, Thorin. On a hill 20 yards away they saw Thorin falling back under an onslaught of gigantic goblins, an arrow protruding out from the gap between his shoulder and breastplate.

“ _Thorin!_ ”

Kili began to run to the aid of his King but Fili put a halting hand to his chest, “Kili, no, you have to get to that outcrop to use your bow!”

Kili saw the mass of rock that jutted out of the rock 50 yards away and shook his head, “I won’t leave you!” He yelled over the symphony of death and metal on metal.

“You have to, you’ll be able to see the whole area! I’ll protect Thorin, Kili, I’ll be fine! Go, _go_!” Fili pushed him and Kili could not deny, so he took off toward the outcrop, wading through goblins, sowing them with sweeps of his blade as he ran.

He scurried up the rock and surveyed the landscape around him, spotting Fili making his way to Thorin, a pair of wolves closing in on the two of them. He quickly fit and loosed an arrow, striking the wolf nearest to Thorin in the neck and bringing it down, and then turned, sure that Fili could take a single wolf.

To the east Dwalin was knocking down goblins with his great axe as though they were nothing but wildflowers, but 20 feet away from him a great pack of goblins was closing in on the outnumbered Dori and Gloin. He let the stinking creatures fall under the sting of his arrows one by one, watching with glee as Gloin searched incredulously for his savior. Kili fought the urge to wave, but did think that Thorin might be awfully proud of him.

Suddenly a great cry rang out from somewhere below, from one of the dwarves, “Beorn has come!”

Kili’s breath caught and he spun to see a gigantic black bear cresting a hill to the north, barreling down on the goblin onslaught below Kili’s feet. He looked for Thorin and Fili but saw only goblins where they had been battling, and before he could look closer to find if they had simply moved locations or if worse had befallen them, he was struck in the back by what felt like a mace. He fell forward, the breath knocked out of him, and quickly rolled to see four goblins that had climbed the carrock and were closing in on him. Kili scrambled back, trying to stand as he blocked a swing from one of their swords with his own blade. He could not get to his feet, he was at the edge of the rock and two had raised their maces at once and he swallowed and wished for a swift end - when all of a sudden a great pair of talons plucked two goblins from the rock and dropped them with a splattering sound 50 yards away. The other two were so taken aback by the eagle’s appearance that they had not moved by the time it swooped back in and took them for their own ride.

Fili jumped to his feet with a victorious whoop, snatching up his bow and already fitting in another arrow when out of nowhere a second eagle plucked him from his rock and whisked him away from the battle below.

“No! No put me down, my brother - _put me down! Fili!_ ”

For a moment Kili was not sure whether the bird knew he was a friend and was seriously worried about getting dropped unceremoniously into battle from miles above. Perhaps he could squish a warg on the way, he thought on the bright side, but it was soon clear that the eagle, gripping him securely, was going to deposit the dwarf away from the fray.

“I said _drop me!_ I have to fight! Stop!”

Whether the eagle could not hear him or could not understand him or did not care that he was leaving his brother alone to the danger of the battlefield, it did not matter. Goblins and wargs bore down with maces of steel and mouths of blood on his brother and his King and he was being borne away to he did not know where.

“ _I wasn’t in danger, dammit!_ I’ll miss _everything!_ ”

It seemed like hours that Kili was soaring blindly in infuriating circles and loops, a time that in actuality was only ten or fifteen minutes, but during which anything could have happened below. At last the steel claws opened and Kili found himself set near the eastern foothills of the mountain, far from any fighting. “Hey _fuck you!_ ” He called after the great tawny eagle, which soared off in utter indifference. “Fucking eagles,” Kili muttered, looking around. Nothing much was happening, but a lake man was picking his way across the black stones, on his way somewhere that Kili did not care about.

“Excuse me? You, yes. Hey. I was just in the ravine when an eagle grabbed me. Do you know what’s happening?” Kili requested urgently.

The lake man blinked. “Last I’d heard the fighting was almost over, Beorn came down with another wave of dwarves and whipped all the goblins out.”

“Even Bolg?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Casualties?”

“We don’t know yet, lad. No one’s been down there to check.”

Kili turned around without another word to the man, sprinting downhill to the ravine as fast as he could go. His straight line was faster than the loopy flight of his eagle but nonetheless it took him eons to pick his way through the great and terrible aftermath of the battle to the back of the valley where Thorin and Company had met with Bolg’s bodyguards.

Kili slowed, panting and desperate as he scanned the ground. The battle must have ended very soon after Beorn had arrived; all that remained on the battle field were the fallen. Survivors had already returned to the mountains. There were fallen men, scattered fallen elves, and some dwarves that he did not recognize. Where was the company of Thorin Oakenshield? Had they survived, were they at this moment wondering where he was?

He searched out the spot that he had last witnessed Thorin and Fili facing down the great goblins, searching frantically for signs of their escape. Thorin was nowhere to be seen, but then - blonde, a spot of blonde 20 feet away like burnished gold amid the red and brown and grey.

Kili felt his knees buckle. “Oh, god...”

He was running again, terrified to his bones at what he might find. There his brother lay with eyes shut, broken and seeping with blood, amongst the scattered bodies of goblins and wolves.

“No, no, Fili, Fili no no _no_ oh _God_.”

The world seemed deadly silent. He searched frantically around him, screams ripping from his throat and falling unanswered.

“HELP! SOMEONE! PLEASE HELP ME!”

His cries echoed ghostly thin around him and he knew that if any goblins in the area remained living he was soon dead, but he did not care, so great was the fear that crashed around his ears. Fili. Fili. He fell to his knees beside the broken figure of his brother, sobbing without restraint.

“ _HELP ME!!_ ”

There was no one.

Dark blood crept slowly around Kili’s knees, soaking the leather and cloth an evil crimson. Fili had been struck down by a blow to the shoulder and his lower stomach rent open with a single swipe of a goblin sword. It took all of Kili’s will not to wretch from the guilt that wracked his body, the knowledge that if they had not split up, if he had been there by his brother’s side he could have protected him, saved him, spared him. Now his brother was dying and he was not and there was no one to blame but himself and goblin filth. Kili smoothed the hair from his brother’s face and, with all the mercy and light held in this world, Fili’s eyes opened.

“Fili! Thank god. Oh Fili, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment Fili’s eyes seemed to search in panic, clouded with pain, and Kili turned his brother’s face until their eyes could meet. “I’m here, brother, I am here,” Kili ensured, tears quaking in his voice. “I have you.”

“Brother,” Fili choked, raising his hand to cup Kili’s face, grimacing at the movement. His wince sent a black pain searing through Kili, and he clung to his brother’s hand, holding it there with the rough pad of Fili’s thumb brushing his cheek, clinging to the fading warmth as if their contact was all that anchored the universe.

“Please don’t leave me.” Tears dropped on Fili’s dented silver armor, once great and gleaming from the forges of Erebor, falling like rain on an old empty bucket.

A weak smile tugged at Fili’s lips, but his eyes shone with a raw and terrible fear. “I could never,” He whispered.

Kili wanted to be brave for his brother, to tell him that it would be alright, to hold his head, to sing, but he could not. He clung selfishly to Fili, his brother’s body a life raft in the tossing hurricane at sea. He could be slain from behind and never know, so busy was he pressing wet, shuddering kisses to every inch of Fili’s face, waiting with dread for his brother’s grip in his hair to slacken, praying that Fili might continue to hold him forever.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Fili’s breath became shallow, fading, distant, until he was worlds away and struggling for every moment. Kili released him from his arms to watch his face, to watch his brother die, soul tearing under the weight of it. He calmed himself enough to take a breath deep enough for both of them and pressed his lips to Fili’s for the last time, kissing him into sleep.

~

With the stench of blood and death surrounding him Kili lay shuddering and sobbing on the ground beside his brother for what could have been hours, head resting where the fur of Fili’s coat would usually be. It had been replaced with the silver dwarven armor that had been charged with protecting him - exalted as the very best and nigh impervious - yet had failed just as Kili had.

There were footsteps coming toward him, drawn to his crying, and he hoped that it was a goblin scout come to run him through with a spear. It was not. It was a pack of four elves, and one knelt by his side, cocking his head. “Would you be the missing dwarf princes?”

Kili sniffed, nodding without thinking, and the first elf gestured for two of the others who crouched down one beside Fili’s shoulders and one beside his legs. Seeing what they were going to do Kili clung only more tightly to his brother with a carnal “ _No!_ You will not take him!”

“Nothing will happen to him, dwarf. We will lead you from danger.”

Nothing will happen to him ever again, Kili thought to himself, whimpering as the elf attempted to help him to his feet. Kili could not stand on his own, so great was his distress, and so he trudged up the valley supported in between two stoic elves with Fili being borne in front of him by the remaining pair. The Lonely Mountain loomed ahead. The air crackled deafly and he saw in slow motion Fili’s hair swinging back and forth, matted and bloodstained like an old pelt.

Their procession passed the gates of Erebor and turned to Dale, eventually coming to the camp set up on it’s outskirts. Gandalf met him in front of one of the larger tents, and the two elves let him go. “Kili! There you are. We have been wondering. Thorin has been wounded.” Kili was surprised that he could still feel enough to notice the dread that dropped in his stomach. He said nothing, staring at Gandalf as if waiting to hear what else would come to break him next.

“He is with Bilbo now, but you may go in.”

Kili felt himself nod, watching the movement of the elves as they lay Fili gently down to the side of what was his uncle’s tent. He wanted to run to his brother - perhaps there had been a mistake - but he found himself instead ducking under the door into the dim warmth with Gandalf following.

Thorin lay on a small cot, bloody and beaten, Orcrist discarded on the floor beside him with a great notch taken out of the blade. Bilbo was weeping near the head of the king, murmuring something that Kili could not hear through the blood that pounded in his ears. The gravity of the situation crashed on to his shoulders like stones; if Thorin were to die... he could not think.

“I am lucky to have shared in your adventures, oh my king. I only hope you are at peace in knowing how incredibly I have loved you, and do love you, and shall love you,” the hobbit whispered, and bent very gently to press his lips to Thorin’s for a small and aching kiss.

All had known how greatly their small burglar had loved the king, and how it had been returned, but as he watched them Kili was struck by the tenderness of their gaze and wished at once that he had not interrupted. It only added to his sadness that another was sharing a final kiss, a final glance.

“Farewell, my burglar, my hobbit of the Shire.” Thorin whispered, brushing a tear from Bilbo’s cheek, cradling his face with a hand that Bilbo clung to as Kili had to Fili’s. “Forever will you hold my heart.”

Bilbo stood as if he could bear no more, turning from Thorin and wiping his eyes. The Hobbit passed by him through the door of the tent and Kili darted to his Uncle’s side, kneeling down beside him, resting a hand on his chest. Thorin met Kili’s eyes with veneration and breathed his nephew’s name in relief. “Kili. You are here.”

“Thorin, my uncle,” Kili breathed, voice shaking, trying to stay his tears. To be brave for his king. “Fili has fallen.”

Kili expected regret in the gaze of his uncle, accusation that he should kneel before him instead of Fili, but there was only a calm acceptance and a deep warmth as he decreed, “Than you are king.”

“Uncle,” Kili pleaded, his voice breaking, “I can’t.” With great effort Thorin clasped the hand that Kili rested on his chest with his own, his grip weak yet resolute. Kili felt him fading by the pulse that labored under his wrist.

“You can.”

“No, Uncle, I need you. Please don’t leave me alone.” Kili begged, a sob breaking from his throat. “ _I cannot be king_.”

“You must, Kili,” Thorin commanded, and his voice held a tremoring strain of it’s old strength. “For your ancestors and the house of Durin you must. And for your brother. He would see you rule well. As would I.”

Kili swallowed, his voice faint. “Then I must.”

Torchlight flickered softly, casting it’s shadows over them, and Thorin managed to smile once more at his nephew.

“Hold strong, my son.” Thorin said, and his grip on Kili’s hand slackened. “It is not goodbye.”

“Sleep well,” Kili whispered, pressing a kiss to the great king’s forehead as the eyes of Thorin Oakenshield closed for the final time.

~

Gandalf tried to talk to Kili after they had both left the tent but the young dwarf would have none of it, fleeing from civilization and back to the Lonely Mountain where he climbed it’s slopes, every minute the realization of what had happened closing in as if he were a cornered animal.

He found at last an outcrop high under the stars which were slowly emerging in the sky, a place far enough that he would not be found or heard or taken away, and threw himself on the ground, overcome and burning with horror.

He curled in on himself, body convulsing as he was wracked with sputtering sobs that he could not control. It hurt so badly Kili thought he may die from grief alone. He did not know what he would do if not. If he took his fate upon himself then and there and married the flesh of his neck to his blade, would it hurt as well? Would it hurt to die? Would Thorin be disappointed?

He suddenly heard his uncle’s voice, “He would see you rule well. As would I.”

And so he was trapped.

“How could you do this to me?”

Kili sobbed until he had vomited on the stones and lay shuddering, enfolded by the inky arms of night. For hours he did not move, watching the stars above him sparkle like the diamonds that lay so far below. He did not move when he heard footsteps and gruff voices, nor when he was picked up by Dwalin and carried to a tent and laid on a soft cot. He did not move until Balin sat him up halfway through the next day and slapped him across the face, making him eat some bread.

~

Thorin and Fili’s burial was two days later in a tomb deep under the halls of Erebor, a great carven room, dank with age, that Kili knew should have housed Thrain and Thror as well. The company of dwarves and select others gathered around two stone coffins to pay final respects, and the Elvenking lay in Thorin’s hands the Arkenstone. In the torchlight it glowed opal and gold and shimmered as if glad to feel the hands of it’s lord around it at last. Gandalf buried with Thorin Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver, and the key and map of Erebor, as his quest was now complete.

Kili left with his brother a single arrow and his silver hair clip, half of the pair that their mother had given them at 19 and 24 years old when their hair had begun to grow as wild and unruly as themselves. He ran a finger once over it’s diamond pattern before placing it on Fili’s pillow; he had not given the clips thought in years, but now that the great stone lid of his brother’s tomb was about to close he found he did not want to see the small bit of silver separated from its partner. He touched his fingers to his brother’s hair once more before turning away.

Balin gave brief speeches, kind and sad, and told Kili that he may do the same. He could not say anything that he knew was right to say in death. He could only tell his brother how he wanted him back, how grey every sky looked now that his sun had faded.

It was Bilbo who led the dwarves in song, a song of a journey, of peace and returning home. Of the sea and the rain and white gulls crying among the stars.

Perhaps Thorin was going home to the halls of his ancestors, to his kingdom on the great sliver shores, but where was Fili going? His home was here, with Kili. Right there beside him. Where could he travel that would not bring him grief?

~

Gandalf found Kili, a day later, sitting at the outcrop of rock by the secret passage way into the Dragon’s lair. The wizard picked his way across the stones until he found a smooth patch 10 feet away from Kili and sat gingerly down. “Your coronation will be tomorrow, before Bard and the Elvenking depart.”

Kili did not look at him, head resting against a boulder, staring fixedly at the grey mountains in the East. “I do not want to be king,” he confided sorrowfully, wishing that he could say all of the thoughts that beat like waves against his heart. He was not brave enough. He was not wise at all. Kili wished that he could tell Gandalf firmly that he would not take up the crown, that it must be passed to Dain, but Thorin had left the world believing that a Durin would once again be King Under the Mountain. So a Durin must.

“I know you do not want to. Truth be told I would not have you be king either.”

If that was supposed to make Kili laugh, it did not.

“You are young and inexperienced, although many new kings are, but you have also suffered more grief than could be wished on any person. I would have your brother and uncle back for you.”

“Well all your willing will do me no good, so perhaps I could be left alone.”

“I’ll ignore your tone just this once, for you. And I’m afraid you can’t be - I’m rather old, if you hadn’t noticed, and it takes a great deal of time and effort to sit down and back up on such rocky ground.”

Kili gave a little huff, not in the mood for the wizard’s ramblings but perhaps the smallest bit glad of his company. Gandalf always fixed things, always knew something when the time was right for fixing or knowing. They sat in silence for a long time before Kili spoke, his throat tight.

“I think I am dead, Gandalf.”

“Master Kili, I know you may wish for death in the wake of such tragedy -”

“I don’t _wish it_ , it is upon me already. Inside me, in my blood, my stomach, my mind, my heart. I feel it. Why will it not take me already?” He whispered. “Why will it not finish me and take me to my brother?”

Kili turned to Gandalf and saw no pity in the wizard’s eyes, which he appreciated.

“I cannot tell you. You have been entrusted with a great task, Kili, which may be the only reason you ever know.”

He bit back frustration at the unsatisfactory answer.

“The coronation will be small and short, I promise that all you must do is bend your head, turn around, and sit.”

“Good. I don’t think I could smile.”

“No one expects you to.”

~

Kili had gone for a walk the morning after the coronation, trying to avoid any political dealings, letting Balin see off the men and the elves. He found himself by the river, coming upon Bilbo, who was throwing stones in to the clear water. He was reminded that the Hobbit had lost much as well.

Bilbo smiled sadly at him, “Hail, King Under the Mountain.”

Kili winced, the words a knife in his chest. The crown had felt wrong, the throne, cold and hard underneath him, had felt wrong - he had wanted to cry out when his companions had bowed; he would rather they yelled at him and accused him. He wanted someone to tell him to get up, how dare he sit in the place of the Great Thorin Oakenshield, but instead he watched with his jaw clenched and face blank as Bard and the Elvenking and the hobbit had all nodded their heads in respect to he who least deserved it.

“Damn my blood. Every dwarf in our company better deserves the crown than I do.”

“Now, that’s not true. Can you imagine Ori up there on that throne? The army of Erebor would be clothed in woolen sweaters.” Bilbo’s face grew serious. “You will be a great king, I think.”

He could not reply. “Are you leaving?” Kili asked the hobbit instead, and Bilbo nodded.

“Yes.”

Kili drew a deep breath. “I wish you wouldn’t.” Without warning he swept the little burglar in to a hug that engulfed him fully, and for a moment he was unchanged, a Kili as he would have grieved before.

Bilbo regarded Kili with eyes somber and large as he stepped away, and he said, very warmly, “I wish you luck, Kili, King of Erebor. My heart breaks for you, as it will every day that I think of what you have lost. You did not deserve it.”

All that Kili could do was nod. “I do hope we will meet again, Master Baggins.” And he truly did. The thought of losing a friend that could one day be re-found gave Kili the closest thing to a spark of hope that he had felt since the battle.

~

Thorin’s words bound him to the throne like great iron shackles, heavy around his wrists and lungs. He wanted to rule well, to be strong and feel that somewhere his brother was proud of him. He felt only guilt and shame.

This was not his throne. It was Thorin’s, and it was Fili’s. He was the carefree younger brother; never had he been called a king. Fili had been his king since he learned to walk. In their childhood games Fili had always assumed that role and Kili had eagerly played the great and valiant knight, eager to do any brave deed that his noble lord willed. He shot small creatures from trees, stole pastries for them to share in gleeful hiding, and when they got older and Thorin had given Fili long lectures about the Lonely Mountain and their ancestors, Kili would make up tales far greater about their own brilliant and bejeweled futures. They would stay up late and murmur for hours about the day that Thorin would reclaim Erebor and, in his time, leave the throne for Fili to fill and they, wise and strong with years, would rule side by side, King and Knight.

It was not so. He hated the throne hall, giant and cold and dark. He had insisted the Arkenstone be buried forever with Thorin, the idea of it glowing with light above him was disgusting.

He hated having to try to hold his head up when it felt as if his shoulders were about to crumble with the weight of his thoughts. He hated dressing nicely, he hated eating nicely, he hated having a big bed lined with furs all to himself.

He hated acting as though he had not already detached himself from all that the world could attempt so feebly to offer him.

For many weeks that turned in to months he carried on like a dead man, expression seldom gracing his face nor sound his lips. He did little and Balin was almost constantly beside him in his kingly duties, guiding him and teaching him lessons that he did not want to hear. He knew the entire company talked of him with pity behind his back, wondering when he might be brought back to the world of the living.

The older dwarves could make him eat, but they could not make him sleep, for when he slept his dreams were filled with horrible and beautiful memories of the strength of Fili’s arms as he held Kili after their first kiss, of dancing around campfires, of the feel of Fili’s thick golden hair as his hands tangled in it desperately, of learning to sword fight in the back of Thorin’s blacksmith shop and Kili’s first battle wound, of Fili’s laugh, bright and rolling and strong. He would fall asleep empty and wake soaked and shaking with tears and full of grief and pain and aching love.

~

Perhaps what hurt worst was the inescapable guilt that pooled in the pit of his guts.

Kili knew that he would never take a wife or produce an heir, that this feeble attempt to resurrect the name Durin in the kingdom of Erebor was all for naught. He was hardly ruling as it was - shortly someone such as Dain, or one of the Company like Dwalin, who had taken up military leadership, would seize the throne and the legends of old would fade and die. He was the last ember of a once blazing fire and he was fucking it up.

More than that, he could not deny the whispers in his mind that Fili would have lived had he been quicker, more insistent, better. It was his fault alone that his uncle and brother would never feel crowns grace their heads, that Kili would never see their faces or braid their hair.

~

Kili tried his best to grieve forever as Fili deserved, but found that years flew on without him. Erebor was a flourishing city once more and Kili was becoming a great king despite himself, just and fair, eager to try new techniques and once again quick to make a joke, well loved by his people despite his occasional rashness and distraction.

His hair was darker and thicker, braided on the sides as Fili’s had been in tribute, and his beard was full and his eyes heavy. Folk that had known Thorin always commented how his nephew grew to resemble him in age, but the only similarity that Kili had ever been able to find between him and his great uncle was the haunted look that took root in one’s face when everything they’ve loved is stripped from them.

Five years to the day of his family’s falling, after a difficult night of dreams, Kili made his way to the western halls of the mountain and down to the chamber of his brother and uncle where he sat with his back to Fili’s coffin and talked, as he had done occasionally in the past when he had needed to, as if his brother could hear him.

“I am much changed, Brother. I have a beard now, not very long, but better than yours I’d say. If only you could see,” Kili said with a wistful chuckle. “They say I look a little like Uncle Thorin, which I won’t believe. Maybe it’s just the air of ‘regal depression.’

I don’t hunt much anymore, I’m sure my archery’s gotten rusty. Sorry about that.

I’m not very good at things still. The other dwarves help a lot - who knew Bofur had such a flair for foreign policy? And Dwalin’s just had a son. I know I will never have one, so perhaps he will be king someday. Sooner than later, I must confess I wish. I want to see you again so badly.

I think of you every day, brother. I remember your dimples and your laugh and our piggy back rides and fist fights.

I still remember the last night we lay together, in that little inn on our way to the Shire before the journey. How you worshipped me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world and how I swore that if I died then I would be happy. Not so lucky, eh? My bed is always cold now. I remember our first night too, although it wasn’t as beautiful. I may never stop being embarrassed about that.”

He laughed, because he was too grown now for tears. “I love you too much, Fili. I love you more every day and you’re not here to see it.”

~


End file.
